


The Legend of Shadow Hunters Continue

by orphan_account



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Badparent!robert, F/M, Hope, Hurt Alec, Insecure Magnus Bane, M/M, Post 3x10, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-11 09:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15969137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The events that take place after 3x10, following a Magnus without magic, a wounded Alec, guilt ridden Jace and Simon, and a plot of betrayal throughout the ShadowWorld.





	1. Chapter 1

It took one single moment for everything to go wrong. One moment where suddenly their whole world had been turned around. In a single moment where Lilith attacked the vampire cursed with the Mark of Cain, and everything in his vicinity was blown away, including Clary. In one moment a possessed Jace stabbed Alec, with a no longer magical Magnus incapable of saving the man he loved. 

For just being one moment in time, so much had been lost.

Magnus paced the length of the back patio, a liquor bottle half drunk poised on the balcony edge. It hadn’t even been an hour since he had begun drinking, and he was already feeling the numbing effect. As a warlock, alcohol had always worked slowly through his blood stream (though he had always managed to slowly drink his way to the point of drunken pleasure), but he found that as a mortal, he was all too easily lost in the bottle. 

In the dark places of his mind, Magnus bitterly thought that this was the only positive aspect of losing his magic. At least now the alcohol would work quickly and effectively to distract him from otherwise overwhelming emotions. Emotions that threatened to tear Magnus apart from the inside out.

He had been at the Institute earlier, holding onto Alec’s hand as Catrina did her best to keep him stable. By the time she had gotten to the Shadowhunter, however, he had already lost too much blood and the wound itself had become infected. Even now, the young Shadowhunter fought for his life, painfully struggling to push through.

Magnus had wanted - had needed - to stay by his lover’s side, but after so many hours of struggling to remain calm in that suffocating infirmary room, he had been all but forced to leave. 

Catarina had been the first to try to convince him to go home. “You need rest,” she spoke to him gently. It was clear that she worried about his state of mind, having seen him at his lowest points already, and knowing that he was worse off now than ever before.  “I could take you with me.”

Yet all he could do was shake his head. “If I leave, I won’t be getting any sleep anyways.”

Isabel had been the second to try. She stepped into the room, her eyes puffy and her demeanor a mess. Outside the infirmary, the Institute was in rambles, and Isabel had been doing her best to keep high tempers at bay. Too lost in himself, Magnus wasn’t sure how well her mission had gone, but it was obvious enough that she herself was tearing at the seams. 

The moment she sank into the chair on Alec’s other side, she stated weakly, “You look absolutely horrible. You should go home and rest. You know we’ll call you as soon as he wake up.” He just shook head, and she accepted it without argument. 

So they all sat there - Magnus and Isabel, and Jace who hadn’t moved at all since they had arrived - with Alec still too close to death on bleached sheets on a stiff bed. 

Then Robert had shown up and Magnus was compelled to let go of Alec’s hand.The man stood by his eldest son’s feet, staring down at him soberly and morosely. With his sudden presence, a new sort of pressure settled into the already dreary room, and Magnus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The small movement brought Robert’s steely gaze upon him. 

“Bane,” he greeted dryly. Magnus, having spent centuries witnessing horrors because of this very thing, noticed immediately the thinly veiled hatred in the man’s voice. “Is there a reason why you haven’t healed my son yet?”

“Dad,” Isabel started, tone strained with sorrow and stress. 

“He gave up his magic to save me,” Jace stated off from the side.

Robert frowned. “In that case,” the steeled gaze remained on Magnus, and the ex-warlock had no power in himself to be his usual confrontational self, “would you mind giving us some space. This is really a family affair.”

“Dad,” Isabel argued again, but Magnust was already standing and heading out the door. 

Which was why he was there now, on the balcony where he and Alec had frequently shared drinks and comfort. He picked up the bottle and took a long swallow. 

*****

Simon didn’t know what to do, or where to go. He couldn’t go home - his mother didn’t know who he was anymore. He didn’t know where Maia was -- last he had seen she was with Jordan. The nephilim had abandoned him. Clary was gone. 

The vampire faltered; tears flooded his vision. Clary was gone. And it was his fault. He had killed his best friend, the girl he had been in love with for the majority of his life. 

His mother had been right; he was a monster. He had died months ago, and he should have stayed died. Like in the ground, not existing, dead.

Except, that was never going to happen now. Death, true death, would forever be out of his reach. Forever to be cursed to walk alone, the guilt and the pain were to be as permanent as the mark of Cain on his forehead. 

“What’s wrong, little one?” someone cooed from behind him. 

He pivoted, his eyes narrowed and his entire body tense. “Camila.”

*****

There was a lack luster energy in the Hunter’s Moon that evening. Though only a few were privy to the events of the battle that had taken place in that cathedral, all of the Shadow World had felt the demonic energy that had exploded. The werewolves and the vampires were uneasy. The shadowhunters were readying themselves for yet another war. 

“Another,” Maryse ordered at the bar, ignoring the wary glances that the other patrons kept throwing her. Though she no longer had her runes to mark her as a Shadowhunter, most of the Shadow World knew who she was, and her reputation had rightly unsettled them. 

The bartender, a different person than usual, complied with her request and she quickly knocked it back.

As a shadowhunter, she had rarely consumed alcohol. Back then, even the thought of doing something to intentional lower her inhibitions would be unthinkable. Ever since she had been de-runed, however, she was finding herself too often drowning in the stuff. First it was to drown out the finality of the divorce and the resolution to strip her of her angelic power (and that was even before they had actually been taken away from her). Then it was drown out the emptiness inside that was left behind once they were. Later still, it was to drown the anger - at herself and at the society of the angel blooded - at being cast out. And now, to drown out the grief and the overwhelming panic of her son’s condition.

She had tried to see Alec, but they hadn’t let her through the door. The same shadowhunter that had blocked her entrance from before stood once again in her way. This time, though, there was no head of the Institute to shoo him away with an air of humble leadership. 

With nowhere else to go, and nothing that she could do, Maryse was intent on losing all her inhibitions. Clearly, she no longer had any need of them. She was useless, she mourned silently. She couldn’t be by Alec’s side, couldn’t take the burden that Isabel no doubt had put onto her shoulder, and couldn’t comfort Jace who had lost the love of his life and was close to losing his parabatai too.

She tapped the counter to signal for another shot. The bartender frowned, seemed to debate internally, and then placed the next round in front of her. Even without her title, she appeared to evoke some threatening air that made it difficult to not try to appease her, in case she decided to wage her wrath upon him. Before she could throw it back as she had done all the rest, a hand swiped it away. Furious, Maryse spun around, having to catch herself when she tipped slightly off balance. Warm, but pain filled eyes stared straight into hers. “I need your help.”

“Luke,” she tsked, and she found herself surprised at how off her voice sounded. “I highly doubt I can help.”

Luke scowled, but still reached out in a friendly manner to balance her. “I need you to help me find Clary.”

*****

Robert Lightwood didn’t stay long in the infirmary. It seemed all that he had come to do was check in on Alec’s condition, send Magnust away, and frown disappointedly at the details of what had transpired in the last few days. Then he was off into the thick of the Institute, presumably to take charge of it while Alec was indisposed. 

Jace watched him leave. Somewhere beyond his incoherent senses, he thought bitterly about the fact that Robert didn’t seem altogether distraught over what had happened, only disturbed by what it meant in the scheme of things concerning the Clave. To him, all this was simply a mishap that needed to be dealt with in a smooth and efficient approach. 

“Why is he even here?” he grumbled when the door closed behind Robert. Since the affair had come out into the open, and he had divorce Maryse, Robert hadn’t made much of an effort in leaving Idris. Or maybe it was more appropriate to say that since being promoted, Robert hadn’t bothered to become distracted by the family he had left behind in New York.

From across the room, Izzy sighed exhaustedly. “Penhallow probably sent him.”

“What do you mean?”

Izzy shrugged downheartedly. “I heard she’s pissed. Especially at us.”

Of course she would be. Not all that long ago, though it felt like an eternity, the group had stolen a weapon, a demon possessed Jace had killed the Inquisitor, they had all disappeared from Penhallow’s chase, and Clary had escaped their prescribed punishment. 

“Is that what you were dealing with out there?” A pang of guilt - as if he needed anymore - hit him hard, having left Izzy to handle the mess single-handedly. 

“I wouldn’t say I dealt with anything,” she huffed, and in it Jace could hear her worry and panic. 

Jace frowned, the only expression he had been able to bring himself to form. There was no doubt that there would be consequences. Those of heavenly blood would reign hell down upon them. All of them. They would all be punished for the sins that Jace had committed. 

A profound silence encompassed the room again. Alec lay on the bed, twitching in pain with no hope of relief - Catarina had already tried. Izzy was folded against his side, her forehead resting on the back of Alec’s hand. Jace sat there,  quietly imploding in on himself. 

It was his fault. Possessed or not, it had been his body that had done all those things. He had been too weak, and the demon had taken him too easily. Because of that weakness, too much had been lost. It had been because of Jace that Magnus had lost his magic. It had been because of him that Penhallow would go after his siblings. It was his hands that had killed all those innocents. Had killed Imogen (his own flesh and blood). Had tried to his hardest to kill his own parabatai, and who might very well end up dead any moment now. He had tried to kill Clary too, during a time when he felt no love for her (how could he have ever forgotten his love for Clary?).

Everything was because of him, and he was struggling with the ability of surviving through that knowledge. That everything was his fault. 


	2. Chapter 2

With a massive migraine and every muscle in his body sore, Magnus slowly opened his eyes. He groaned. Sometimes before dawn, he had passed out on the balcony with the empty bottle grasped in his hand. Based off of how high the sun was set above the skyscrapers, it was past noon, and the intense rays hurt Magnus’s eyes. Furthermore, he was still exhausted. Even after passing out, the rest had been fitful. In the dark spaces of the alcohol induced state, he had been plagued by pain, depressed memories, and horrid images of what may be.

His first impulse was to snap his fingers and make everything more clear; to make the migraine disappear and to make himself more presentable. Except, snapping his fingers would do nothing for him now. He was stuck with his hangover and the smudged khol and the fact that was now completely useless while his lover and friends dealt with the aftereffects of a demonic invasion. 

For a long moment, he lay there, an arm crossed over his eyes in an attempt to block out the ungodly glare of the sun. There was a part of Magnus that was tempted to stay in that spot until he decomposed. As a mortal now, that’s what he had to look forward to, wasn’t it? Decomposing. Slowly dying in misery. 

But then he gave a heavy sigh and pushed himself up. Beyond the tiredness, the headache, and the emptiness that had settled deep within him since accepting the terms his father had set. Magnus knew that there wasn’t enough time to drown himself in melodramatics. 

So he picked himself up and went inside to get ready for the day that he would have to face. He quickly showered, unable to enjoy the pressure and the steam as he would have only a day before. Then he rifled through his closet, pulling on whatever dark clothes he came into contact with first. Without putting on any makeup, he was out the door. 

His footsteps were hurried as he stormed out of the building and out onto the streets, though there was nowhere he needed to be at a certain time. It was only that he had to focus on something, otherwise he’d get lost in the abyss that had replaced the magic. And there was only one thing that could successfully capture all of Magnus’s focus; Alec. 

Alec was worth devoting himself to. That had been anyways. When Asmodeus had offered his deal - the power to save Jace in exchange for magic and immortality - Magnus had been realistic in his understanding that it would be a rough transition, but he had had been hopeful all the same. He would save Jace, and then he and Alec would grow old together. The hazel eyed shadowhunter would have to put up with a lot of course: mood swings, drama...tantrums. But in the end, they would have each other.

If nothing else, it would have put an end to that argument they were having - the one they never got around to finishing. Alec wouldn’t have to worry about becoming a memory within a box. Magnus wouldn't have to watch another love die. 

At least that was what Magnus had been thinking before he stepped through that very last portal and saw a possessed Jace stab Alec. Back before he had knelt at Alec’s boody side, having to listen to him try to joke horribly in the terrible seconds where he fought for his life. A life that was still on the very edge of a cliff, every moment threatening to jump off. 

Almost two hours later, Magnus found himself in front of the Institute. Or, he was in front of the church that was supposed to be the Institute. Staring up at the abandoned church, Magnus cursed. His Sight, along with his magic, was gone.   
**********  
A stern knock sounded at the door. Izzy jolted awake from his restless sleep and jumped to her feet in preparation for battle. It took her a second for her senses to catch up with her, to realize that she, at the very least, was safely within the boundaries of her own room. Still exhausted and weighed down by the burdens of the day before, she opened the door furiously, glaring at whoever was to be found on the other side. 

“I don’t want to speak to you,” she spat when she saw that it was her father. 

“Unfortunately, we don’t always get what we want.”

“So you and mom always said.”

He gave a heavy sigh and stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him. “I understand that you’re angry with me, Isabelle, but you have to understand that I am only trying to help you and your brother out of a complicated situation that you put yourselves in.”

To be honest, Izzy wasn’t sure if he completely grasped just how angry she actually was with him. No one seemed to understand just how much the man had put her through. It wasn’t just that he had come to the Institute to take charge during Alec’s incapacitated state, or that he had become the Clave’s lapdog - in which he would no doubt choose Penhallow over his own children. All of that was just the topping of his already brutal betrayal of her. 

For she had adored her father; she had been a daddy’s little girl. Right up until the point where she had learned that he had been having an affair. The distance that had been put between them because of his unfaithfulness had only become more when he had received a promotion from the Clave. Gradually, the fallen figure of a father had become a man that wasn’t a father at all. 

Given the job that he had always wanted, Robert had become obsessed. He had always said that duty was the most important aspect in life - that the deed made the name. And it was the name, he had made more than clear this last month, that mattered -- not the people. Even now as he claimed to be trying to protect his children, Izzy couldn’t help but be resentful at the thought that it was only to protect the reputation of the Lightwood name. 

“Do you know the mess that you four left behind in Alicante? How much damage was done?”

 

Izzy turned up her nose, refusing to be manipulated by the rhetorical questioning. “You’re wanted for interrogation. There are members of the Clave that are accusing you of treason, bringing up other instances of your disobedience. And if Alec wakes up, he’ll be facing similar charges. Demoted, no doubt, plus whatever other punishments the Clave deems necessary.”

She shrugged casually in an attempt to show just how much she didn’t care. “If they use the soul sword, they’ll know the sword. We have nothing to hide.”

Only Clary had a secret, but she had already sacrificed herself to the Clave so that Izzy and Alex could get away with Jace in tow. And Clary had escaped apparently, only to be killed in the end. Izzy stiffened. She couldn’t fall apart now. Not with her father watching her and sprouting off Clave nonsense. 

When she did give the response Robert seemed to be waiting for, he gave another burdensome sigh, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Just trust me Isabelle, I’m doing what needs to be done.”

 

“And you should trust me father, when I tell you that we also did what needed to be done.”

**********

Alec twitched agonizingly on the infirmary bed. There was a pain nestled deep inside Jace’s chest that echoed hallowingly of what his parabatai was suffering through, fighting to overcome the demonic infection and survive the fatal wound. 

There was a soft knock at the door. Cautiously, Underhill stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. With a soft-tone, sympathetic voice, he asked. “Have you been able to sleep at all?” The lack of response didn’t deter the other Shadowhunter. Holding himself like any soldier, but with kind eyes, Underhill stood at the foot of Alec’s bed. “Still no improvement?”

“No,” was all Jace managed to say.

He didn’t know Underhill too well. There hadn’t been that much time to get to know the man personally. What he did know though, was that as soon as Underhill had been transferred to the Institute he’d shown a loyal friend and supporter to Alec.

There was a slight frown on Underhill’s expression. A tired silence existed between them, both seemingly lost in their own grieving thoughts. After a time - something that felt like forever - Underhill spoke again. He kept his voice low, as if to keep his words strictly between him and Jace. “Penhallow is on her way to the Institute.”

“Iz said something to that effect.”

“I overheard Robert Lightwood talking about how Isabelle is on probation and how you’ll be taken to the jail cell in Idris.”

“Good to know.”

The skin at the edges of Underhill’s eyes crinkled. Jace observed him with an air of detachment. There was something about the calm, soldier-like shadowhunter that reminded Jace of how Alec had been before there was Magnus. It was obvious that Underhill was a young man of strict values and uncompromised morals. Like any true soldier, he followed orders precisely but never blindly. He stood in a manner that belied repression, an inner spirit fighting at the seams.

Because of the similarities, Jace noticed the way Underhill was tempted to say more, but was wary of the implications of saying too much. “Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”

Lower still, Underhill replied, I thought you might need to know in case it affected any of your plans.” Jace was well aware of how careful the man was in not outright stating that Jace should run. That was something else that reminded Alec, back before Alec had become the head of the Institute. 

“No plans,” Jace commented, his gaze reverting back to his parabatai. 

There was silence again, but only for a moment. Enough time for Underhill to think of the right thing to say. “I do not think your parabatai would like it very much to know you simply allowed yourself to be captured despite the fact that you’re not to blame.”

Except that I am to blame, Jace thought in self-deprecation. Whatever Penhallow decided was his fate, he deserved worse.

As if reading such thoughts, Underhill stated in steely assurance. “None of that is your fault.”

Feeling cornered, never minding the good intention, Jace snapped, “What would you know about it?”

Underhill frowned, empathetic rather than insulted or pitiful. “I know that Alec wouldn’t blame you.” Before Jace could argue, Underhill nodded formally and prepared to leave. “Please think about it before making on impulsive decision.”

Jace scoffed, rolling his golden eyes. “You obviously don’t know me,” he snarked just beneath his breath as the door closed with a soft click. Alone again with his parabatai, he sighed miserably. “What to do brother.” he whispered. Alec gave no response, too lost in the infection and the grip of death. Jace too, felt the hold of death, tightening its claws in his already bleeding heart.

For years, Jace had been empty. Valentine may have treated him with a kinder hand than he had with Jonathan, but that hardly meant anything in the scheme of things. Being raised by Valentine had meant he had been raised without a complete soul. He’d been a soldier, going from mission to mission, though he hadn’t believed in any of the causes. 

It wasn’t until he became Alec’s parabatai that the little bit of soul he had become something more. It made him just a little more alive. Jace always assumed the change in him was due to having to share that soul with another person. That wasn’t to say that Alec had been the only person that Jace cared about. He cared about plenty. It had been Alec, however, that had made him feel that the caring was worth something. 

And it was Clary that had made it possible for him to care about himself. The soul that had expanded itself to share with Alec, also reached out to her. For the first time in his life, despite the war that plagued the Shadow World, Jace had felt whole. 

But everything was gone now. They were both gone. He was worse than empty now. Worse than dead. 

**********

Green eyes opened sluggishly. Muscles were sore and insides were burning. The ground was cold and wet, slimy to the touch. Everything was dark. From a distance, as if high above in superiority, a smooth and cruel voice laughed in a mockery of good will. “Aw, hello there Sleeping Beauty.” 

It was Jonathan - whole and awful once more. 

Clary shuddered.


	3. Chapter 3

Penhallow arrived with a warlock made portal and guards at her side. With her lips pursed in agitation and aggression, she stormed the New York Institute, hunting down those she (and the Clave itself) felt responsible for the damages down the Shadowhunter society in last couple of days. The nephilim of the Institute scattered at her presence, pretending that business was needed elsewhere, just to escape the wrath that rolled off her like holy rage. 

That anger, however, was founded upon something much deeper - grief and terror. The last four months had not been easy for the Clave as Valentine rose in power and gathered once again his loyal Circle members. That threat had only increased as he then waged war against the downworlders, and the dutiful Shadowhunters that had stayed true to their birthright were forced to regrettably fight by the demons’ side. It was distasteful to say the least, but Penhallow had swallowed her angelic pride, and through the chaos that had surmounted their society, she had risen in rank. 

Now, however, things were once again in shambles; too many disasters happening at once. Lilith had been freed and pure blooded demons roamed the land like never before. Clary, the newly instated Shadowhunter born of two traitors and with a gift that unsettled the wisest of their kind, had broken their most sacred law. And then escaped rightful judgement. Because of the girl’s mistake, Jace - perfect soldier and angelic experience - had been weakened, causing his possession and thereby responsible for the death of dozens of mundanes and Imogen. Despite understanding that Jace himself was not the one to blame, it was up to Penhallow to make sure that his recent weakness was never to be used against them again, even if that meant locking him away until the Silent Brothers fixed him. 

In addition, there were the smaller issues of disobedience and recklessness that she needed to deal with, that although were not as threateningly serious as the others, were still matters in which Penhallow needed to take into account. Far too long, the Lightwood children had been running the New York Institute with their ideals of reformation and disregard of Clave laws. Stealing a weapon from the vaults was the last straw, and their behavior needed to be disciplined before any further indiscretions could ruin the Shadowhunters’ way of life.

The thought of demoting Alec from his position, though, did set her at unease, especially considering that he may not even make it through the ordeal he was facing now. He had such promising potential in creating a new social bond between he nephilim and the rest of the Shadow World. His leadership and intelligence was admired, and she had hoped that he would expand on his abilities to further aid the Clave. 

However, he had proven over and over again that his allegiance, when tested, was more towards the downworlders than of his own angelic blood. This, Penhallow had to agree with the Clave, was unacceptable.

Still, she did have qualms about what she was about to do.

“Where are they?” She immediately asked Robert, who had readily take over his son’s position and office. 

“Isabelle is in her room. Alec is still unconscious and Jace is with him.” There was no sign of grief in his voice as he listed off his children for whatever punishment the Clave had demanded. Though she couldn’t show it, Penhallow felt a wave of sympathy for the three young adults. 

“Jace will come back to Idris with us to be contained by the Silent Brothers there,” she ordered, pushing away her own emotions. “As for Isabelle and Alec, they will be stripped of their titles.”

Robert held up his hand in an attempt to argue. Penhallow gracefully allowed him to. “Jace, I understand. He’s a danger. And I know that my daughter has proven herself unable to follow the simplest of Clave doctrines. But Alec…”

“I’m sorry Robert, but he’s shown hand. If war truly does come to the children of angels against the children of demons, I can’t say for sure what side Alec would fight for. It’s a risk we cannot allow.”

The father sighed, but Penhallow noticed it for the dramatics that it was, and she narrowed her dark eyes at whatever antics he thought he could play. “You know, Alec wasn’t always like that. Jace and Isabelle sure, they’ve always been rebellious, but Alec...he was supposed to be the one that always followed the rules right down to the letter. Then that warlock came into the picture and manipulated my son into doing things he never would have thought of doing before.”

Penhallow said nothing. She, along with many of the more conservative Shadowhunters, also disapproved of the relationship between Alec and a downworlder - a male downworlder at that. It had certainly proven to pressure Alec towards certain ideals.

“What if I could promise you that when Alec woke up, the spell that Bane had put on him broke?”

She rose a delicate eyebrow at the word “spell”, knowing that as much as people may have found the relationship between the two vile, there wasn’t a soul that didn’t believe it was something real. Was Robert so far into denial, or was he just looking for something to blame? “I don’t see how you could promise that?”

 

“The only way for Alec to survive is for the Silent Brothers to intercede,” he replied. “I am sure they will make sure that no enchantments still cling to him once he’s fully healed.”

There was little concern in the man’s voice, and Penhallow doubted the sincerity he held towards his son being healed by her Silent Brothers. Critically, she was aware that Robert was suggesting the idea, not for his son’s well-being necessarily, but more so that there would continue to be a Lightwood in charge - one whose title and potential would increase Robert’s own power and reputation among the Clave. 

It was deplorable, yet Penhallow was no less despicable. Whatever Robert’s own motivation was, the angle that he was playing, if Alec did in fact awake with no connects to Bane, there was a chance they would once again have their aspiring young Shadowhunter that could lead charges against demon kind.

Feeling unsettled about the idea, but convincing herself that it was for the best, Penhallow conceded. “If Alec awakes and no longer feels tied to the warlock, he may continue to lead this Institute.”

Robert smiled. “Thank you. I assure you, my son will be back to his old self in no time.”

She nodded, and turned back out the office, off towards the infirmary where she her guards would be escorting Jace back through the portal and into a cell. 

**********

Simon looked around the extravagant hotel room that he had, for some unbegonst reason, followed Camille into. Distantly, he wondered if she still had the ability to compel him towards her. With all this uncontrolled power that he apparently held, was he still at the mercy of a sire bond?

“What am I doing here?” he asked, only mildly surprised to hear how dejected and destroyed his voice sounded. 

Camille lounged on one of her crimson, velvet loveseats, looking like the eternal queen of the damn that she was. Only days ago, Simon would have been flustered at the sight of her attempts of casual seductiveness, as well as highly intimidated, but now he felt nothing. He simply stared at her with blank eyes, waiting for her to provide an answer. She looked up at him through long lashes, a charming and beautiful smile on her blood red lips. “I thought we could help one another out.”

“What could you possibly do to help me?”

“Revenge.”

“Lilith is already dead,” Simon stated it in the same dull tone that he had said everything else since she had come upon him. It was the voice of a man - a creature of the night - that was marked with a lifeless existence. 

Camille shook her head, her dark eyes lit in dark amusement, followed by a throaty laugh. “You think you could kill a higher demon so easily?”

Easy? He was close to erupting...if he had any energy to do so. Nothing about killing Lilith had been easy. Her death had cost him everything.

She must have seen the rage within him, even past the spiritless demeanor, for she chuckled mockingly, tasking him as if he were a small child. “You didn’t kill her little one. All you did was send her back to Hell, where she slowly regains her power.” The centuries old, drop-dead gorgeous vampire peered at her polished nails, obnoxiously casual. “Then when she does, she’ll come back and try again.”

“No,” Simon fought against the idea. Fury consumed him from the inside out. He couldn’t believe her. Camille was hardly a reliable source...yet her words sounded true, and he hated it. How dare Lilith remain alive - in whatever dimension - while Clary was dead!

“But I get you to where you can truly kill her. For good. And all you would have to do for me is give me back my clan.”

“It’s Raphael’s clan.” He wasn’t sure why that specific argument lept his lips. Raphael was the last thing on his mind. The vampire had made it clear he wanted to be left alone, especially by the guy who had flung him across an alley into a brick wall with the power of a curse that he hadn’t understood. Anyways, Raphael could handle his own, whatever he may be faced with, and Simon had enough on his plate. Despite all that, there was something that protested the usurping of the angel-faced vampire that had tormented him for months. 

“After all that Raphael has done, he hardly has anything anymore.” Camille snarked, but she quickly reverted back to her seductive poise. “So, do we have a deal?”

The way Camille offered the deal, it sounded simple enough: quid pro quo. Except, Simon wasn’t so naive. Not anymore. He knew that she had more planned than what she said, and that plan had to do more with benefitting herself than aiding Simon. She was simply using his loss to manipulate him into doing what she wanted. He’d be her pawn, just as every other creature of darkness had been using him since the day he decided he needed to stay by Clary’s side as she entered into the Shadow World. 

Simon was furious though, and grieving, and desperate. With nothing left in this world, and knowing he’d live it forever, he needed something to ground him. Otherwise, he’d go insane. Inside his head, he couldn’t help but laugh cruelly at himself. After all that that he had had to endure, it was obvious that Simon was already out of his mind. Seeking after vengeance wasn’t going to change that.

**********  
“So, what makes you think Clary is still alive?” Maryse questioned Luke the moment the two of them had stepped into his ranch-like home. She tried to keep her mind focused, but as her eyes scanned the home as she had always been trained to do, she was caught by surprise at how impressed she was by the place. Though she hadn’t given much thought to how Lucien had lived once he had become a werewolf, the few times she had, it wasn’t like this. 

It was homely, with a sense of peace that embraced those that stepped inside. Much of the furniture appeared self-crafted, beautiful, and natural - made from the same oak wood that she had seen outside. On top of the desks and bookshelves, was a wide range of ancient volumes, loose papers of detailed art, and framed photos of him, Joselyn, Clary, and that boy Maryse often saw tagging along.

Luke walked straight into the kitchen, leaving her standing in between the foyer and living room. If she craned her neck she could see the dining room. From within the kitchen, he answered, “An instinct mostly,” he was returning, French bread in hand. He handed it to her, carbs to soak up the alcohol that she had been drowning herself into. “And the concern that Simon’s ability works on those that mean him harm, and I know for a fact that Clary would never try to hurt him.”

Maryse took a bite of the offered bread, and replied softly and sadly, “It was an explosion, Luke. I don’t think he had much control over it.” 

She wondered if that logic meant anything though. Instinct, Luke had said. It was his instinct, both that of a Shadowhunter and a werewolf, that had him believing that Clary was alive. More than that, she began to fathom, it was his instincts as a father that had him believing his daughter was still out there. 

At that thought, she was quick to continue speaking before he had the chance to respond to her cynicism. “What do we do to find her?”

Because it occurred to her that Luke needed his daughter. Like everyone else these last few months, he had lost too much, and he was determined to hold onto the last part of himself. 

And Maryse found herself needing to do what she could for him. She was beginning to think that it was the least she could do. For she’d been thinking back recently to everything she’d done in her past, all the sins that she had committed. Then Luke had walked into the Hunter’s Moon that day she’d been out with her own children and she’d been forced to remember how she had treated him. The moment he was no longer a Shadowhunter, she had abandoned him as all but Joselyn had done. Years of friendship had meant nothing to her. 

If possible, she’d wish to change how things had been, but she couldn’t. All that she could hope to do now was to her best to make things right. She’d start by aiding him in his crusade, even if it led to a dead end.

**********

Wherever Clary was, time was indistinguishable. Everything was indistinguishable. All she knew was that only a mere feet away from her was Jonathan, somehow made whole even after all that she and her friends had done to stop Lilith from reviving her son. 

For however long they were there, he kept up a running commentary of mockery, but otherwise he stayed where he was. As he droned on, in love with the sound of his voice, she tried to activate whatever angelic power she might still possess beyond her knowledge. She even had her stele with her, but whatever runes she traced upon her skin, or on the slimy ground, nothing happened.

After the hundredth time, Jonathan paused in his ramblings to laugh. “Give it up sister. Nothing angelic can thrive in Hell.”


	4. Chapter 4

Robert Lightwood had always been a man who had taken great pride in being a descendent of the angels. He felt, as many Shadowhunters did, that such angel blood in his veins meant that he was indeed better than the creatures that walked the earth: downworlders and mundane alike.

For long ago Jonathan Shadowhunter had been granted the power of the rune with the decree to protect the world from demonkind. There had been a clear distinction of the races for centuries that marked the superiority of the Shadowhunters above all else. It was an era that Robert had read about many times, and one that he longed to returned to. So when Maryse had told him about Valentine’s plan to purify the world, to finally stake their rightful dominance over the demon spawn, he had readily joined the cause. 

It was unfortunate that the Circle had been unable to accomplish their goals, but even as the Clave imprisoned, killed, and out Circle runes on the members, Robert held onto the hope that one day their vision would come to be. Except, he had learned well enough, it would not be done by Valentine. Instead, Robert made plans to rise in the Clave and change it from within. 

Like most worthy goals, it had taken years to even come to a place where that goal could come to fruition. Robert had had to prove himself loyal to the Clave and to the Institute, going out of his way to make the Lightwood name reputable. And finally, the Clave had seen his deeds and promoted him into their ranks. He had the Clave members eating out of the palm of his hand. They weren’t too far removed from his way of thinking, and all that was needed was a little push in the right direction. 

There was only a minor problems, three to be exact: his children. 

Jace though, as willful and disobedient as he was, could be cast aside. The blonde wasn’t his blood after all, and Robert had no shame in letting the boy go, disattach him from the family. 

Izzy, however, his once shining star of a daughter, continued to grow up and refuse to see the world for what it was. He had hoped - and continued to hope - that her infatuation with the downworld was only a phrase. She was misguided, and until she learned where she had gone wrong, Robert had to keep her locked up and out of trouble. It saddened him to think of her in such a way, for he truly did love her above all his other children (probably because she reminded him of Maryse back when Maryse had passion), but he couldn’t allow her to get in the way of what he needed to do.

Then there was Alec. Though Robert had never had what one could considered a good relationship with his son, he had once seen his eldest’s potential. Up until a few months ago, Alec had been the one with a conservative mind and the true character of an angelic soldier. Above all else, Alec was meant to be the one to help Robert rise to the top.

That perception had died the moment the warlock Magnus Bane had wormed his way in Alec’s life. Because of Bane, Alec was suddenly announcing - completely out of the blue - that he was gay, and that he was willing to give up his own chance of making a reputable name for himself for the disgusting downworlder. 

Well, that at least, Robert had found a way to fix. Taking his unconscious son, twitching in agony from the infected demon wound, Robert entered the City of Bones. There was a chill in the air, and a sense of foreboding, but Robert continued on. Through the dark, speckled stone walls and the cold stone floor, he maneuvered Alec’s body to the gray ceremonial slab where two of the Silent Brothers waited.

Are you sure you wish to go through with this? The one called Benjamin asked through their psyche link. There are dangers to this type of ritual.

Robert didn’t even hesitate before replying, It’s worth it.

**********

When Penhallow’s guards had come to retrieve him, Jace didn’t put up a fight. There was no energy in him to do so, nor the will. Still, the guards took necessary precautions and they each grabbed an arm to brutishly lead him out of the infirmary room. It was painful to leave Alec’s side, but that sort of pain was buried by everything else he was feeling. Jace didn’t belong there anyway - not when he had been the one to put Alec in that condition. 

Underhill was standing just outside, legs positioned steadily, head held up high with watchful eyes, and hands clasped in a soldierly manner behind his back. His expression was stoic. It was only thanks to reading Alec’s blank stare for years that Jace saw the disappointment. He ignored it. 

The guards took Jace out of the back way of the Institute so as to avoid the majority of Shadowhunters. By doing so, they passed the in-house garden with the stained glass windows, completely void of any Shadowhunters. This part of the Institute was often empty, only visited by Church, Hodge’s old cat, and Jace himself. 

garden had once been a sanctuary for Jace, especially right after his father’s supposed death - the father he had loved and who he had thought loved him. Unlike most Shadowhunters, Jace had been raised not only to fight, but to also create and appreciate beauty. The garden whose flowers seemed to bloom year-round without aid, was the only section of the Institute that could be called beautiful, and Jace had found a semblance of peace.

That was no longer true. Nothing could bring Jace peace; especially not a place that held too many memories of one of the people he had lost. The memory of kissing Clary while the sun hit her brilliant red hair just right. The memory of taking Clary’s hand and walking through the rows of flowers as she giggled about how romantic he was. Or the memory of having woken up from a nightmare and Clary finding him here and holding onto him without saying a word.

It was all too much, and Jace dropped his gaze with unshed tears in dim, golden eyes.

The walk through the garden was unnaturally slow. Too ridden with pain and guilt, Jace didn’t have the energy to move with any amount of speed, and the guards were practically dragging him along. Or maybe it wasn’t the emotional turmoil that had Jace moving so slowly, but a sense of premonition. 

For the second they reached outside, Jace fell to his knees in agony. The grip from the guards loosened in surprise, but they holding on and stayed close. Through the parabatai bond, it felt as if Alec was being tortured. Jace screamed. 

**********

Magnus couldn’t remember ever getting back home; he was too drunk to think much of anything...and it was only just a few hours past noon. Though it was the type of dramatics and mystery that he had promised himself to get away from just that morning, but now it was his plan to remain in this pitiful state. 

It was at this point that someone decided to knock frantically at the door. Magnus groaned. A moment passed and the knocking resumed, loud and agitated. “Go away,” Magnus moaned but it was garbled into the couch that he had face planted into. 

“Magnus!” the person on the other side of the door yelled, the knocking becoming more incessant. “Magnus!”

 

In the numbness and ache, it took longer that it should have to recognize that the person was Clary’s friend, Simon. At first, Magnus thought to ignore the vampire. There wasn’t anything he could do to help after all. Why deal with the headache when he was useless to do much of anything?

Moment moved painfully slow, giving Magnus the time to realize the selfishness of his decision to ignore the young man outside the loft. To be honest - heartbreakingly honest - Magnus understood that he wasn’t the only one that had lost something that day. Simon, for one, had lost what little control he had just become accustomed to, and so much more than that, had lost his best friend. 

Pushing aside the drunken haze and the emptiness that consumed him, Magnus forced himself up and to the door. He let Simon inside. 

The boy looked terrible, though Magnus knew he probably didn’t have the right to do so. Already dead, the vampire was lifeless now in every sense of the word. There was no energy inside of him, no hope...nothing.

“I just had a talk with Camille,” Simon was stating, his tone dull and depressing. 

“How enchanting.”

“She said I didn’t kill Lilith.”

“No,” Magnus was slow to respond, “most likely Lilith didn’t die, at least not in the traditional sense. Unless killed in a very specific manner topside, Greater Demons tend to just go back to Hell, power diminished as it is.” Simon nodded, but there was a look in his expression that Magnus couldn’t exactly describe, especially not in the context of things. 

Confused by the slight shifter in the vampire, Magnus waited for the boy to explain. Simon seemed to need an extra moment though to fully process. In the space of time that he needed to think, another frantic knock sounded at the door, “Magnus, it’s Isabelle.”

Quickly, Magnus opened the door. “Has Alexander woken up?”

The answer was clear without her ever having to say anything. Tears stung her dark eyes, staining cheeks. “He’s missing,” she cried. Whatever energy and control she had gathered to find her way to the loft was completely depleted. She fell into Magnus’s chest, sobbing into the soft material of his shirt. “I went to the infirmary and he was gone.”

Magnus couldn’t accept it; he refused to. What she was saying was incomprehensible.   
“Penhallow was at the Institute,” she cried, “and...and I know she and the Clave are mad at us. I don’t...I don’t know what they might have done, but he...he’s gone. I can’t believe he’s gone. I wasn’t there for him. I shouldn’t have left.”

**********

Ethan Underhill stood watch over the infirmary room. The Institute was in shambles, chaotically trying to run even as their leader was at the edge of death. No doubt, Ethan could have been useful doing something else, but he couldn’t bring himself to step away.

He had always thought himself to be loyal to his Shadowhunter duty, but as he listened to his fellow Shadowhunters gossip about what may befall Alec even if he did wake up, Ethan realized that his loyalties had shifted. No longer was he determined to play that dutiful soldier to just anyone with a rank and title. He was loyal specifically to Alec Lightwood. 

Which was why, when Robert Lightwood discreetly took Alec out of the room just seconds after Jace had willingly left with Penhallow’s guards, Ethan felt obligated to follow. He didn’t like thinking that Alec’s father would do anything to harm Alec, but he wasn’t about to take the chance.

He used his stele to mark himself with the stealth rune, along with speech and strength. Then he silently followed Robert as the man took his son into the City of Bones. Slowly, he crept around the corner of the black, cold stone wall. 

There were too Silent Brothers present, doing so indistinguishable ritual. It made the young soldier inwardly flinch. Though the Silent Brothers were known for their righteousness, their powers always came at a cost, and Ethan was afraid what the cost of healing Alec’s demon infected wound would be. What was really suspicious, however, was that Robert marking Alec’s skin with runes. Ethan hadn’t thought much of it when he ran his stele over Alec’s deflection rune, thinking it was a means of defense. When he started designing a new rune on Alec’s ankles, ones that Ethan had never seen before, his instincts drove him forward. 

Too quick for the Silent Brothers or Robert to see, Ethan ran to Alec, picked him up, and took off. Careful to not have been followed, and to make sure that he was too fast to be seen, he carried the Head of the Institute to the only place he knew for sure would be safe: Mr. Bane’s loft.


End file.
